


reason and rhyme

by cheapsushi



Series: it’s always raining in seattle [1]
Category: Asagao Academy: Normal Boots Club
Genre: Coffee, Fate, First Meetings, M/M, Seattle, Talking, Talking About Life, Train Stations, also this isn’t that brutaltown-y looking back, catch me out here legit sobbing over these two, i really like this fic y’all fjfjxjdk, not really asagao but definitely not rpf, tbh it’s really gen and not much happens but. oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-02 11:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheapsushi/pseuds/cheapsushi
Summary: ian misses the second to last train to portland. things get a little weird from there.





	reason and rhyme

**Author's Note:**

> augh hello,,,, i haven’t written a one shot in a while fjdhdeb
> 
> so yeah i like this one a lot. it’s a lot longer than some of my other one shots but i hope that’s okay haha , 
> 
> also yeah this fic takes place in seattle but despite me taking wa state history and me living literally a few hours away from seattle my knowledge of the city’s very limited,,,, im sorry

The train whizzes past him, sending a rush of cold air and dew drops to ruffle Ian where he stood, wildly out of breath on the train platform. His gray backpack was left slung carelessly over one shoulder, bits and pieces of his once-neat undercut falling out of place. 

Just his fucking luck- the universe had some interruptive plotline on its hands. 

He checks his watch. 7:45 precisely- _God,_ couldn’t they at least wait for stragglers?!

Seeing as Ian was one of said stragglers and also the fact that he was still in the station and not on his way south, apparently not. His guess was that the second to last train to Portland had to embark on its four hour journey _ ASAP, _ as to not waste time from getting to one rainy city to the next. 

If Ian were allowed a choice, he’d’ve been much more content on staying home rather than hustling to some business meeting where his presence didn’t impact anything more than his resumé. But alas, being a mature American citizen was _ much _ more complicated and work-loaded than sitting at home watching Netflix in your sweatpants eating Hot Cheetos. 

Ian makes a mental note to thank capitalism. 

The intern opts to take a seat on a nearby bench, diluting his adrenaline through fixing up his hair. He catches sight of the train schedule, now an illuminated sheet in the evening’s dim light. Two particular times stick out to him- the first being the one he just so happened to miss, and the other scheduled to arrive in no less than three hours. 

With a sigh, Ian slings his backpack back on, trekking through the doors inside- this was fine, the setback just gave him extra time to get work done. 

He takes a seat at an elevated table, pulling out his laptop, careful not to bring up other objects- a binder, spare shirt, a tangle of earbuds, to name a few -along with it. 

Apparently, being careful wasn’t enough for the universe, as a small sketchbook (easily the least used item in his bag) comes up along with it. It tumbles to the floor beneath his seat, lying pathetically under the stool. Ian snags it up without a second thought, shoving it back in the bag. 

Ian waits for the login screen to let him in. His laptop was old, borderline ancient, therefore slow as rush-hour traffic, but he couldn’t complain. It was a generous hand-me-down from his roommate, who was back at home, probably lounging around without him. 

The Seattle sun was gone now, allowing a deep gray to seep through the glass-paneled roof. Soon-to-be passengers mulled around, waiting for their chance to board. 

Ian’s city attracted an… interesting variety of people. You had the regular tourists, the nuclear families who came for the fish throwing and the coffee and all that mainstream shit. Here also gathered the crackheads that Ian couldn’t help but feel sorry for. 

And then, somewhere in between, were the eccentrics. The artsy types, the twine-tied bundles of talent seemed to _ flock _ to the Emerald City, poets and lyricists looking for a single _ spark, _something to strike a metaphorical match. You’d find them on every street corner, playing for a dollar or two, scouring for recognition. 

The one in front of Ian just happened to be an example of this category. 

What seemed to be a guitarist around his age sat on a lone sofa a good thirty feet away from his current spot. He had a duffel bag on his lap and an instrument’s fabric case laid comfortably next to him, several multicolored patches sewn on. He donned a lilac varsity jacket, faded from what Ian assumed was constant wear, covering a strikingly white tee-shirt. Contrasting the vividly light palette going on was a snapback, the black fabric slightly faded. His blue eyes complemented the get-up well enough, and he seemed to be… making eye contact with Ian. 

That’s exactly the _ last _thing you want to do with a stranger, mind you. 

Mildly embarrassed, the intern flicks his eyes back to his laptop screen, pulling open a doc. His typing fingers clacked their dull clacks, missing a few letters here and there. Ian looks back up. 

…The guy was _ still _ staring. 

Ian grimaces at him, hoping he’d take the hint. 

Things went from awkward to worse. 

Mr. Guitarist gets up from his seat, aiming _ directly _for where Ian was sat. 

Ah, great. 

“This seat taken?” He doesn’t even wait for a reply, pulling out the stool in front of the intern. The guitar was dropped to the side on the floor, and he leaned his elbow on the table, resting his chin in a palm. 

“Uh…”

“I saw you sprinting out there on the platform a bit ago.” He notes, a bubbly grin being hoisted up. “The name’s Luke!”

‘Luke’ holds his hand out for a shake, and Ian begrudgingly interrupts his work to return the friendly gesture. 

“Ian.” 

Ian blinks for a bit after pulling away, trying to figure out how to go about this politely. “…Look, I don’t have any spare cash on me right now.”

Without even missing a beat, Luke laughs it off. “Ah, nah, man, you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not lookin’ for money, just a bit of company.”

Ian furrows his brows, not replying. 

“I’ve been here _ all day- _honestly, all the waiting around is exhausting.” Luke stretches out, twisting to crack his back; Ian has to force himself to hide his visible shudder at the sound. “My train should be getting here in twenty-ish minutes, so I’ll probably be out of your hair by then.”

“…Okay.”

Ian goes back to his work, trying really, _ really _hard to pay no attention to this… stranger. Something about him just seemed… weird. 

“I had a good trip here in Seattle.” So this guy was a tourist- that explained a lot. “The Space Needle was cool, but I mean, that one fish-throwing place was _ wild!_”

Yep, definitely a tourist. 

Luke grins, throwing his hands to the back of his head. He leans back, somehow miraculously keeping himself from falling out of his seat. “There’s a lotta rain here, too- I mean, that goes without saying, but _ still-_”

He shivers. “It makes me cold just thinking about it.”

Ian half-heartedly nods, eyes not leaving his computer. He’s been getting a lot less work done since this ‘Luke’ guy decided to throw himself into his business. “Mhm.”

“You visiting here, too?”

“No.” Ian falters when Luke stays quiet a few seconds after that simple statement, apparently expecting more from the intern. “…I live here.”

“Oh, cool!” 

“Yeah.” 

Ian’s still glued to his laptop, not really sure what to make of this. This guy seemed… nice, sure, but he must’ve wanted _ something _if he were talking to him like this. 

Luke blinks for a bit, mildly disappointed from the lack of an engaging response. His eyes travel to the back of Ian’s laptop: a gray, blank slate, save for a single sticker of a geometric company logo. 

“What’re you working on?”

Ian looks up for a moment, immediately regretting the eye contact. “Typing up some charts and documents. Polishing them. All that.”

“Ah.” That sounded… boring. Not that Luke would ever say it out loud, though.

Thankfully, Ian gives Luke a bit more to work with. “I’m heading down to Portland this weekend. I’ve got a meeting I need to be at.”

The musician visibly perks up, sitting a bit straighter. When did he even start slumping…? “Oh, wow! I’ve never been to Portland- how’s it like down there?”

Ian smiles. Sort of- it's a quarter of a smile at the very most. “Rainy, like here. People are fine. Good food. Voodoo Doughnuts isn’t worth the hype, though.”

Luke scoffs. “That’s bogus!”

“I only speak the truth.”

The guitarist in front of him cracks a chuckle. “I’m actually headed towards Kansas, myself.” 

Luke leans forward on the table, forearms almost touching the back of Ian’s laptop. “I guess I’m what you’d call a ‘free-spirit’ or whatever- I’ve been sightseeing across the States for pretty much a year, now. That’s where I got all of _ these _ from!”

Luke hoists up the fabric of his guitar case- upon further inspection, the patches looked to be memorabilia from scattered states. 

Ian nods, mildly impressed. “You’ve traveled a lot.”

“Yeah, I have! I’m headed back down to my folks’ place, though, they apparently want to see me now.” Luke huffs. “You got any family up here?”

Ian shakes his head. He’s been missing a lot of words right now, having to type and re-type the last paragraph over and over. “Nope. Just me up here. Moved from Texas two years back.”

“Nice.”

The word hangs awkwardly, dragging out a silence into play. A minute passed, then another, and then the pair find themselves sitting in silence for well over five minutes. 

Ian dares to take a glance at Luke. He’s not doing much, just kinda… sitting there, looking around the station. Not that Ian minded or anything, he honestly didn’t, this guy shutting up just meant more work he could get done now. 

This moment was just like the rest- routine and focused. Sure, he had some random stranger spectating him, but he’s sure had weirder happen to him. 

And then the weirder happened to him. Weirdness multiplied tenfold. 

“How do you feel about fate?” 

Six words. Six words were apparently enough to flip the world on its axis. 

Ian stops.

He stares at Luke. “…I’m sorry?”

“How do you feel about fate?” Luke repeats himself easily, almost painfully so. 

The intern waits. “I’m not sure I understand-”

“Everything happens for a reason, right?” Luke interrupts as if this was just a regular conversation that regular people had on a regular basis. “So are things just destined to happen because they are?”

Ian’s, frankly, kinda freaked. “Sorry, but if you’re trying to get all Jesus-y on me, I’m fine without it.”

“Nah, none of that. I’m just curious ‘bout what you think.”

A weird and oddly… haunting question, but okay. Ian’s mind has unconsciously but fully abandoned work, the untouched keyboard destined to send the screen dim. 

He bites the inside of his cheek, folding his hands. “I… don’t really think much about fate. Haven’t really believed in it.” 

Before Luke can refute, Ian elaborates. “When things happen, it’s not just… destiny or some fantasy shit like that. The world’s overly complicated, and there’s a million things that connect to each other and there’s no way to stop that. Nothing’s just chance.”

Ian shrugs, unsure of what else to say. “So no, I don’t think I put too much faith into fate.”

“If there’s no such thing as fate, then how could I be talking to you?” 

What? “Dude, are you on something or-”

“Your train.” Luke vaguely gestures in the direction of the train platform. “You missed it. It’s inevitable that _ somethin’ _had to stem from that.”

Luke waves his hand out. “Therefore, fate.”

Ian can’t help himself- he scoffs. “Well, look man, I’ll let you know when ‘fate’ decides to show its face to me.”

Against Ian’s expectations, the eccentric in front of him just laughs- it’s ridiculously airy, and something uncomfortable churns inside of Ian. He frowns. This guy was hard to gauge. 

And then, as if it’s magic- or perhaps even _ fate _-the overhead speaker boots up, distributing an announcement. 

_ “Passengers of the 618 Amtrak departure, there has been a two hour delay due to weather interference.” _ The lady’s voice is indifferent about the setback. _ “We apologize for the inconvenience.” _

The intern blinks at Luke’s smug face. “Is that… your train?”

He smirks. “‘No such thing as fate,’ huh?”

“…Never said I didn’t believe in coincidence.” 

“Well then,” Luke stretches out, his varsity jacket raising along with his arms. He yawns. “Gosh, I’m _ beat- _ you know a good place to get coffee ‘round here? I mean, Starbucks is good ‘n all, but I’m feeling something more earthy right now, you catch my drift?”

Ian stops in thought for a minute- the conversation was _ really _ going in this direction? After all _ that? _ This was weird- _ Luke _ was weird, they hardly knew each other- hell, they _ just met _ -and now they’re apparently all buddy-buddy? Forget what Ian said about being through weirder- all of this was _ surreal. _

And all of this being surreal was the exact reason Ian was pissed at himself for responding the way he did. 

“Yeah, there’s a place I know not too far from here. I’ll show you.”

Luke waits as Ian packs up his things, the both of them embarking on their caffeine quest shortly after. They exit the station, Ian unsurprised to see that the previous drizzle had elevated to a medium downpour. 

“Geez,” Luke pulls out a teal umbrella from his backpack, flicking it open. “It was just fine a minute ago.”

He glances at Ian, clearly horrified. Ian, completely unfazed, only shrugs. “Washington’s weather is fuckin’ indecisive. It’ll clear up in a minute or two, then go back to pouring just like that.”

Luke nods, not about to argue with that. The pair walk for a bit more, Luke looking over at Ian every so often; he seemed unbothered by the rain, despite only wearing a light jacket over his shirt. But he must’ve been at least a little cold, right…?

“You good? We can share the umbrella, if you want.” 

The intern falters, the kind gesture catching him off guard. A flustered swarm of pests settles in the pit of his stomach, but he swats them away. “I’m… nah. It’s fine. Seattleites don’t use umbrellas anyway.”

Luke’s stare on Ian remains for a bit longer, despite Ian trekking on straight forward, gaze straight ahead. 

He moves in a bit closer, anyway. 

Ian stops in front of a quaint little bookstore, holding the door open for Luke, the both of them stepping into the sepia toned Polaroid of a parlor. The smell of cinnamon and old perfume of aged pages wafts through the air, giving a newfound warmth that remained even with the bleary weather outside. A tiny handful of patrons were seated inside, pouring themselves over books and sipping at their drinks. 

“My roommate works here.” Ian reveals, the image of his friend on his mind; seeing the time, Jeff was probably having a late dinner without him right now. “He’s not working right now, but he’ll usually sneak me free pastries and stuff when he is.”

“It’s nice in here.” Luke sets his stuff on a couch, checking that the fabric of his guitar case isn’t too badly soaked. He looks around, taking in the sights. “I like the vibe, it’s very cottage-y.”

They both order their own mugs- Ian, a black coffee (“How fitting,” the musician jokes) and Luke, a white mocha. They seat themselves at a two person table in front of a rainy window, and Ian couldn’t help but feel like this was kind of an impromptu date. 

It’s quiet between them. Ian doesn’t mind that. There’s only the sound of the rain and the humming of some lo-fi tune on the little Bluetooth speaker at the front. He thinks he’s heard this one before, but he wasn’t really sure. Ian stirs his coffee, focused on the swirling liquid still full to the top. He flicks his eyes up to Luke. 

He’s watching the rain fall. 

The intern furrows his brows. They’ve been together- well, not _ together-together, _ that’d be _ crazy, _ but just _ together _ -for the good of almost an hour now, but he’s just _ now _noticing a few speckled details about this perplexing traveler. 

Previously, the brim of his hat had shadowed his face in the darkness of the outdoors, but in the soft light Ian found that there was a light smattering of freckles across his cheeks. He held his mug in between guitar-string calloused fingertips, and Ian’s heart drops when he catches sight of a few worrying lines across his hands and arms peeking above his pastel sleeves. Luke hums to himself, a smile on his face. He looked so perfectly content, so perfectly blissful, so perfectly _ at peace _with everything. His smile was so free. 

Ian stares for a bit too long. His eyes drift back down to his coffee, and he sighs through his nose. He’s confused, more than ever now, and he can’t help but seek for clarity. 

“…I have to ask. Why?”

The musician turns his head, attention pulled from the fading drizzle outside, the rain already leaving. “Hmm?”

Ian’s composure falls- he wrings his hands, already regretting that he asked. “Just… why? Why all the traveling? The sightseeing? Being on the run all the time? Are you trying to, y’know… escape?”

A bit of worry passes through Luke’s eyes, though it’s gone as quick as it came. He puts his mug down, shifting his arms. “If I’m being completely honest… no. I guess I’ve been on a sort of ‘self discovery’ mission, y’know? Just… meeting new people, seeing what there is to see…” 

He gestures to his guitar case, the patches still scattered and colorful as ever. “Doing what I love all while learning more about me all the time… it’s… liberating, really. Just… chasing my dreams.” Luke seems indifferent, despite the sincerity of his short monologue. 

For a multitude of reasons, Ian’s horrified. “Aren’t you afraid?”

“What’s there to be afraid of?”

“Everything!” Ian almost barks, face flushing as he realizes. “T-Taking risks, rolling the dice, running from life and responsibility- it’s _ insane!_” 

His words are almost a threat, but Ian doesn’t care right now- he was on a roll. “Just… life can’t work like that. If everyone just chased their ambitions- if everyone just did whatever the _ hell _they wanted, nothing would get done! There has to be sacrifice in order for life to work. It’s just like that!” 

“Life’s not _ just _ like that!” Luke remarks, immediately toning it down when he realizes that maybe, just _ maybe, _it made him sound a bit reckless. He takes in a breath, as if he were going to speak again, but it’s held. 

The drizzle outside picks back up into a sudden downpour. The musician sips at his mocha; the intern leaves his coffee alone. There’s only a faint wisp of steam left rising from his caffeine. 

Ian deflates a bit, thinking about how he got here. Tonight was just too much, but… 

He takes one more look at Luke. 

Ian waits a minute before deciding to do something completely ludicrous. 

He tugs up his backpack from the floor, ignoring Luke’s confused expression as he pulls out his sketchbook. It’s slid across the table, rings scraping along the wood and stopping in front of the guitarist. Ian clears his throat. 

“…I was enrolled in an arts school before I took on this internship.”

Luke’s silent, unsure of whether or not to add on that. He’s not sure what to do, tentatively opening the sketchbook only after seeing Ian’s approving but curt nod. 

“It was fun for a while. Met some interesting people. Did some fun things.” Luke flips through the pages- most of them are blank, but the ones that _ are _drawn on hold gorgeous portraits and flawless anatomical studies. 

Ian grins for a split second. Art school feels like a fleeting memory now, as if it happened a lifetime ago. It was gone now, though. 

“And then life hit me, and I realized that there were bills to pay. And mouths to feed. And gas to buy.”

Ian shrugs. “Being a full time artist isn’t enough anymore. So when I got this opportunity,” He stares at the stone colored bag on the floor. “I dropped everything and took it.”

Luke finally looks back up at Ian, reaching the end of the book and resting on a particularly nice sketch of a hand and forearm. Ian looked… sad. Really sad. 

“Dreams aren’t for everyone, Luke.”

The musician waits for the rain to clear. 

“…Are you happy?”

“It’s not about whether I’m happy or not-”

_ “Are you happy?” _Luke insists, a glowing determination in his eye.

Ian holds his breath. His hands start shaking and his voice starts wavering, despite his willingness for it not to. “…Like I said before, sacrifice is necessary for life to work.”

“Sacrifice should be made, sure,” Luke agrees partly. “But you shouldn’t have to sacrifice your own overall happiness. I had an opportunity for a stable job- I could’ve taken over my folks’ business, I’d have been set for _ life… _”

“But I knew I’d never truly be satisfied with myself.” For the first time in this forever, Luke’s pensive. He looks away, poorly trying to hide his growing tenseness under his snapback. “I wanted to make something for myself, I wanted to _ do _ something… ever since I was a kid, music’s just been the most important thing to me- God, at this rate, it’ll _ always _ be the most important thing to me. And now, after living and breathing for myself, I think I’m at a point where I’ve found what it means to be truthfully, genuinely _ happy._”

Luke almost goes for another sip of his mocha, but it’s already finished. He stares from the cup back to Ian’s face. “Being happy isn’t as simple as making the most money or being able to constantly drain yourself for a corporation in a futile pursuit of a promise of bonuses and promotions… you have to pursue what you’re happiest doing.”

“And I know it’s all cliche and all spoken before, but it’s important.” The sketchbook slides back to Ian, Luke’s hold on it lingering for a prolonged moment. “It’s _ so _ important. If you’re happy doing art, if you truly _ love it, _then I encourage you to follow it. You’ll regret it if you don’t, later on down the road.”

He lets go of the light book, smiling when Ian takes it in his own hold. The heavy presence is lifted from the pair, and Ian swears the temperature was a lot less cold in here than it was before. 

Luke shrugs a heartful shrug. “As some old philosopher would say: ‘Follow your dreams.’”

Ian’s wordless, silently shaming himself for staring and allowing the pink flood to his cheeks. He lets out a chuckle- only _ one _ chuckle, though. 

“What, are you some sort of life coach now?”

“Nope, just some weird guitarist you happened to get coffee with after meeting him in a train station.”

Ian smiles. He thinks he might be happy. 

The unlikely duo finish up their time in the bookstore, dropping off their mugs and mulling around for a bit, looking through the shelves upon shelves. Luke sticks by Ian, making simple conversation about Luke’s travels and Ian’s art and both of their common interests. Ian’s filled with a growing confusion, the beige light on Luke’s face leaving him helpless. Ian checks the time on a clock above the door- 9:37. Only a little less than an hour left. 

They walk back to the train station, the atmosphere benign. No words are exchanged on the walk back, and Ian’s trying to fend off a flurry of emotions, each and every one of them swirling into what he could only describe as a blending full of fuckery. There’s a new tugging worry at Ian’s chest now, his head filled with so many questions and curiosities and his mind just won’t _ stop. _

Another part of what he’s feeling is frustration- frustrated, partly because of the whole train situation and being pulled into some rando’s philosophical lecture, but mainly because somehow, in the last two hours, Ian had already gotten invested in Luke. 

He inwardly smacks himself. God, he just met Luke _today _and he didn’t even know his favorite movie or his last name or virtually anything _at all _about him- but whoop-de-fuckin’-doo! His brain just _had _to go and fall for the first thought provoking guy he met that day. 

Ian shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. They’re both walking side by side in the rain, trekking through the unsavory weather for another ten minutes. The sound of the rain is the only backdrop to their journey, both of them tight lipped. 

Every so often, Ian would flick his gaze to Luke; still the same man he was two hours ago. Ian watches him exhale and pass through the resulting fog- honestly, Ian‘s trying, genuinely _ trying _ to will himself to speak up, to ask for his number or his email or just _ something _ so that this wasn’t just another fleeting opportunity, and he _ almost speaks up- _

He lets go of a breath, unsure of how long he was holding it. Ian doesn’t speak. Guess he’ll just have to swim through his own torrential thoughts for the rest of the night. Or, more realistically, the rest of his life. 

He’s not sure of what it was about Luke that was just so… good. Luke was just… so _ confusing _ but in a good way, and he obviously had a real passion for life and everything in it, and _ fuck, _ Ian was a fucking _ idiot. _ It’s been _ two fucking hours! _ This guy was so fucking _ confusing _ and _ eccentric _ and overall _ eerie _ and Ian’s so perplexed at the idea of him and God Ian’s so lost. 

His mind is spinning- Luke, dreams, fate, Luke, coffee, happiness, _ Luke- _ all of this was _ so much _and…

Ian’s not sure what to make of all this. 

Fifteen minutes to fill before it’s time for Luke to go. 

They both end up sitting on a bench outside on the train platform, sheltered from the rain under the cover of the slanted roof. The water rolls off the glass, streaming down together in a steady drip onto the train tracks. 

It’s calm right now, level and steady. Luke holds himself composed, while Ian on the other hand is trying desperately to not yell or cry or make a scene in any sort of form. 

“I’m glad I came to Seattle.”

Ian’s caught off guard. He directs his attention from fiddling with his backpack zipper to Luke’s conversation starter. “You are?”

He nods. “It’s a nice place- I can tell why you’d stick around here.”

Something gross in Ian almost wants to go so far as to ask him to stay. “…Yeah.”

The intern’s mind fails him, and he continues involuntarily. “Would… would you ever think about coming back here? Just visiting again?”

Luke hums, unaware of Ian’s current inward predicament. “Don’t know, honestly. I’ll see what life throws at me, then I guess I’ll just have to decide what’s best from there.”

A twinge of… _ some weird emotion _spills into Ian’s chest. He honestly can’t tell what it is. “That’s fair.”

“I’m excited to head back home, though. More or less.” The musician shrugs. He shifts in his seat a little, still staring across the way at the trickle down, still a steady, routine stream. “Haven’t seen my folks for a _ year._”

Luke chuckles breathily, rubbing the side of his face with a palm. He’s looking a bit sheepish, or maybe that was nothing more than just Ian’s imagination. “God, they’re gonna be so _ pissed _ at me when I get back. I don’t really… talk to them much. Haven’t made much of an effort to answer my mom’s calls lately. I love them and all, I honestly do, it’s just… I dunno.”

“I dunno.” He repeats. His smile dips a little, but it’s not leaving him anytime soon. “I’ve been having some ‘me-time’ for a while, I guess.”

There’s more silence- a cold, wordless investment. There’s been too much silence recently, and Ian honestly doesn’t know what to think of it. 

It’s not entirely quiet, though- the intern’s mind is _ still _ racing a mile a minute, his head drenched in so many words and feelings and confusion and above all _ questions. _

“…Luke?”

The muse turns his head, the newfound eye contact between the two of them shattering Ian’s previously gathered confidence into metaphorical shards. “Yeah?”

“I…” He tries to speak, tries and truly _ begs _himself to speak, upset that this was so difficult and angry with himself that he couldn’t get the damn words out, his cowardice screaming at him in his mind all while being backed by the steady pouring of the rain…

Nothing comes out. 

He turns away. 

“…Nevermind. It was nothing.”

Luke keeps his eye on him a few seconds longer regardless, wordlessly nodding and putting his attention back onto the train tracks. 

A crackle of speech above them; the arrival of the train. 

Just as it was predetermined, the 618 Amtrak pulls into the station. It creaks to a stop, letting passengers step off to make way for new ones. There’s a small sea of people now, and Luke rises up to join them. 

Luke, with a glimmer in his eye and a guitar slung across his back, turns to smile at the intern. “It was nice meeting you, Ian. Thanks for keeping me company tonight.”

Ian watches him step away, stares all the while as he makes his move to leave forever. He’s fucking hyperventilating- he wants to yell, he has so much to say and so much he wants to do, but he can’t do it- he can’t fucking do it, he _ can’t _ take that _ risk- _

Luke’s almost to the open doors; there’s only so much time left, and Ian can’t spend anymore of it thinking.

Ian takes a risk. 

_ “Wait!” _

The shout stops Luke in his tracks. He turns himself to face Ian, who had stood up in that instant. 

Ian flushes, embarrassed that he was so loud, afraid that everyone had their eyes on him now (when, in reality, no one really cared.) He sputters. “I-I just- I have so many questions and my head’s spinning and _ God _I don’t know what to say or how to say any of it-”

“Woah, hey, take it easy,” Luke walks back over to him, only heightening the intern’s panic. “Everything okay?”

Ian can’t even look him in the eye- fuck. _ Fuck. _ “…God, no, I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything- you have to go, I’m-”

“We’ve still got three minutes.”

Ian freezes, staring at Luke like a deer in the headlights. He chuckles out of nervous habit, averting his eyes and beginning to fold in on himself. “It’s just, it’s so fucking stupid but I just… you’re the opposite of everything I’ve done, the opposite of everything I _ am, _ and it’s really making me wonder-”

He looks back up at Luke, willing himself to make eye contact. He hesitates. “It’s making me wonder… will I ever see you again?”

The musician inhales sharply, the sound barely there for a moment, and then it’s quiet. All the other noise in the station- the people, the crackling intercom, the steady pattering of the rain- fades into nothing more than Washingtonian fog; it’s just the two of them on the platform. 

There’s fog for a few more seconds. Luke blinks, his eyes filled with some sort of unrecognizable feeling. 

“Remember what I said about fate?”

Ian makes no move to respond, but that’s enough of a response for Luke. 

“Everything happens for a reason, right? I’m sure this isn’t the end. If fate allows, we’ll cross again. I know it’s all ridiculous to you, pinning a risk and leaving it all up to the cards, but life just works like that sometimes. It just works out.”

Ian’s static. He bites the inside of his cheek, impulsively throwing himself at Luke for a hug. The musician returns it soon after stumbling and getting over the initial shock, and Ian has to blink back the sudden tears at the touch. He whispers, barely loud enough for his own ears to hear it. _ “Thank you.”_

They hold onto each other for as long as they can.

A sizzle of static overhead- the last call for his departure. 

The duo separates. Luke laughs; it’s incredibly airy, and it fills Ian with warmth, almost uncomfortably so. 

“You’re going places, Ian.” Luke promises, blue eyes shining bright as ever. He takes a few steps backwards- he had to _ leave, _after all. “And when you get there, I’ll be rootin’ for you.” 

Luke salutes, watching Ian the whole time as he walks through the open doors. He turns around once he’s inside, standing ethereal as a golden hope against the bleak Seattle rains, flashing a grin one last time. 

The doors slide shut. 

The train rolls off moments after that, Ian watching it go every second that it does. He must’ve been standing for a few minutes before he takes a look at the time. 10:25, only a good fifteen minutes or so before his own departure. 

Ian takes a seat on the same bench he did only three hours ago, taking the time to reflect on his short encounter with Luke; it was obviously strange, but nevertheless impactful. Ian’s… confused, that’s a given, but there’s more than that. He’s open. He’s inspired. He’s hopeful. He could only really describe this whole thing as a coffee stained sepia-toned revelation, a fresh memory that he just had a gut feeling was never going to leave him. 

Ian taps his fingers, looking back to the train tracks. He smiles. Watching Luke (who was nothing more than a reckless dreamer and an eccentric stranger to him, really) leave on the late train to who-knows-where gave him, without a doubt, the most _ surreal _feeling he’s felt in his short twenty-four years of life so far. 

He thinks he’ll probably end up missing him. 

**Author's Note:**

> god ngl i cried like. a few times while writing this,, im pretty proud of this one i really hope you guys like it haha


End file.
